From God to Adam
by lye tea
Summary: All good ironies go down in history: adam was really god after death. /Light-centric/


**A/N: **Written for a challenge; alternate ending.

* * *

**From God to Adam**

god passed on the torch—  
scorched the world, died  
hot and panicked, adam received  
all-mighty power in all-tightening cowering  
from god to adam  
anew was man  
from god to adam  
pandora (with her 666 hands)

"the world was good again."

**-x-**

In the year of—_"ano domini"_—in the year of trials and tribulations, there came tearing an eruption of flames and waves across the world's flat plains and towering, giddy vertiginous heights. In the Second Coming of jesus christ, both hell and heaven (bound to earthly skin) welcomed arms and in flooded the veneration of secularized piety. In the conquered remains of freedom and sin, god passed judgment on those who lived and those who died.

This was: a blanketed peace.

This was: an advent to appear.

This as the citizens of Kingdom Come revealed: Machiavelli had been right all along.

Tranquility and fear were fungible endings made clear by the world's state of old, of a man who migrated into the realm of god, took them by their necks and ankles. Hung them up, dried them out, and mandated that this was excellence.

He was a man who can't be killed. He was the man who stabbed the stabbers back (in the righteous name of justice). When the second word became flesh or god degraded himself to human shackles, he would remain to bear the cross.

Records did not lie. They were the formidable tablets of truth (the stone-based commandments of testaments) and they proved that cruelty was only love in disguise.

Crime rates fell to nil, civil dispute became myth, and the people were satisfied—felt no need to dissent, to raise fury and hate, swinging _"the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune"_. Their children were safe, and they were safer still: enveloped (emasculated) by the love of an aging king and newborn divinity.

This was Utopia in Metamorphosis (of what More once promised, Kafka manifested). Out of the chrysalis, of tarnished butterflies and glorified beetle-bugs, _to hell with metaphors—_he could amend the world with invisible threads and a tiger-needle. Gray putty and presculpted Styrofoam created the lands and waters.

**-x-**

…preamble …  
when the first god was born  
there was no such thing as "aging"

**-x-**

Diligently, he would scrutinize the new file of criminals and lesser wrongdoers and even lesser revolting scum. And then, from the tip-top of the list—down he went, eyeing every name with whorish obsession—he would choose. And those selected were the ones to die.

Tonight.

That night.

It didn't matter, as long as they died. Because this was his Utopia, and in paradise, there was nothing so _unpleasant_ as sin or evil. By the corner, hovering over, Ryuk phased in and out, an animate corpse dancing to the off-beat tune of deaths counting.

For almost six decades (sixty years and six months and six days continuing) this was typical life. This was the law of nature and endless time, and this (Light swore) was what will save the world.

But for all his impressive dictation and courageous demands (delusional and going under the bend) Ryuk remained uncaring, dismissive, a half-assed full jackass at that. Humans will die, that was inevitable. And Light will die, that was guaranteed. And when he does, so will his personally fashioned perfect world.

In the bloody ruins of god, pooling from his gloriously dismembered torso, laid the seeds for rebellion and discontent.

Light coughed violently, back hunched over, ancient bones shaking. Ryuk laughed and thumped him happily on the back (it would be a few days more; he could wait).

**--**

Today was a beautiful day.

Light took the coffee from his new secretary and sipped the bittersweet taste of caffeinated prophecy. He held a pen, shaky and unstable, and jammed it down into a Death Note page and began to write. And write. _And write_. There was time (there was always time) and he could still killkill_kill_—

_This little piggy got too greedy…that little piggy got too lazy…what a crazy little piggy!_

So it went.

"You really do look a fright."

"Look who's talking, Ryuk. As monstrous as ever, you are."

"But I don't go ugly with the years. _My_ beauty stays intact."

"What beauty?"

"That goes for both of us."

Light shrugged. He was old, and that was that. _So what?_ He controlled the world, had held it lovingly for so long. He wasn't _stupid_, knew there was an end to everyone—to him—but that was far away, a distant thought that nagged at him but never surfaced.

The world was perfect, and he had no complaints. When the time came (the time to die) he will be ready, and so will the world, because everything was arranged. And nothing, from now until eternity, will change.

He could list—

He could fall down, seemingly dead, gasping for air, convulsing on the hardwood floor with a barren mind. No thoughts, no plans left. Ryuk laughed and laughed. The time had come (and Ryuk was well prepared).

Light was pitiful was human was swiftly dying. Light was an egotistic megalomaniac and got just what he deserved.

A smart shinigami would take the remainder of his life, and Ryuk was smarter than any, in retrospect.

--

Funerals for dictators and bastard generals were all the same: pompous and gaudy and ceremonially _poignant_. They were rehearsed down to the tee so nothing can go awry, and regurgitated back for the thousandth rewind so just in case.

And when the mourning and crying ceased, the real party began.

Because every human was replaceable with another—just over the edge, ready to take the former's place. And when Light died, there was another maniac already stepping into his place. With another century or millennium rolling (Ryuk forgot how humans chronicled history) Light will diminish completely—pun intended—and that will be the final nail in his coffin.

He will be forgotten and discarded like every other mad king, reduced to late-night bickering philosophies and the sticky, luminous pages of textbooks. If he were lucky, he might materialize as a schoolyard rhyme or witty insult.

As any good traitorous friend, Ryuk warned him and was rejected as being mommyish and worrisome. It really was ironic that Light died so suddenly, so very, very _funny_.


End file.
